


Consummation, at last

by ADyingFlower



Series: I'm only doing this because I love you [10]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Captivity, Codependency, Dark Keith (Voltron), Depression, Disturbing Fluff, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Internal Conflict, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Disintegration, Mental Health Issues, Mindfuck, Non-Graphic Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Relationships, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 19:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19818787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADyingFlower/pseuds/ADyingFlower
Summary: “Honey, slow down!” He hears Keith yell, but both of them are laughing anyhow as he practically skids inside the building, looking around with awestruck eyes.Plants line up in little garden beds on either side of him, small little things that still have to be nurtured carefully. Water trickles down from small pipes strung with wires from the ceiling, keeping the garden soil damp.How strange. Water in the desert.Soil spills line the small walkway, squishing underneath his sore feet as he walks deeper into the small and dim greenhouse. Carefully, he reaches out a hand to touch one of the small sprouts of green, the small tag sticking out of the soil naming it a green pepper.“So this is what you’ve been working on, huh?” It’s practically a whisper, but Keith hears it anyhow.Keith watches him with clear hesitation, standing still as a statue in the entryway. “Yeah.” His reply is soft, barely heard. “Just for you.”(Keith's long awaited gift is revealed, and Lance mind ultimately breaks under the pressure)





	Consummation, at last

**Author's Note:**

> 10/12

“Rise and shine, lovely!” 

Lance groans, rolling over to cover his head with the pillow. The warm spot where Keith usually sleeps is empty, so he stretches out, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed. Ah, it's so nice to have the bed to himself. His back and knees have a constant cramp from sharing a twin bed with Keith. Too bad they really don't have room to get a larger bed, the shack is so tiny already. 

There’s a weight on the edge of the bed, and then Keith is shaking him, fingers stroking up and down his forearm reverently. “C’mon, I have a surprise for you. And pancakes.”

While the idea of pancakes was tempting, he was too comfy, bodily needs be damned.

“No,” he whines, rubbing his face against the pillow. “Sleepy.”

A chuckle. “Yes, I know you are. But please?”

Mm. Nope. 

When Lance refuses to get up, he hears Keith stand up and walk away. Good. He’s tired and Keith kept him up last night with the new TV he bought. They don’t get cable, but they do have a crappy DVD player and redbox at the supermarket if he behaves. And he finally got to see the new superhero movie that came out some time during his captivity, and special effects are getting better by the day, seriously. 

Maybe he’ll get a couple more minutes, the weather is finally cooling down from summer’s oppressive heat, and while he’s used to Cuba’s humidity, that was _humidity_ , not this…dryness. If he’s really nice and docile today, maybe Keith will take him outside? Just for a couple minutes, he won’t even mind the kni-

“ _What the fuck!_ ” He shrieks, jumping to his feet and away from a laughing Keith. Cold cold cold cold!

The ice cubes clatter to the ground, gravity forcing them out of his shirt. Whipping around to glare at Keith, he huffs, airing out his now damp sleep shirt. 

“Jerk.” He mutters. 

Keith just grins at him, smacking his nose before striding back into the kitchen. “Language!” He sings cheerfully, trying to act like he doesn’t enjoy causing Lance abject misery. 

Fucking sadist. 

Grumbling, he follows after Keith, knowing from routine that he won’t be allowed to change clothes until after breakfast. Plopping down in his seat, he expectantly raises his left arm to be tied down, more focused on drinking some of the coffee Keith made with their brand new coffee maker. 

Not for the first time he wonders how Keith gets all this money to keep buying them new things, yet still needs to work odd jobs occasionally that involves delivering shady shit. 

Keith sits down across from him, spooning a couple pancakes on each of their plates with the syrup and butter already in the center of the table. Blinking, Lance casts several glances between his still untied arm and Keith, but his captor only gives him a mysterious smile and silently urges him to eat. 

Huh. Guess Keith finally trusts him to be within stabbing distance when there’s knives around. 

(Lance knows he religiously counts the knives and cleaning supplies every day while Lance is in the bathroom, having caught on only twenty minutes after Lance stole one. Keith ended up breaking into the bathroom while he was in the tub, and lashed up Lance’s arms in a frantic fury until Lance admitted where he hid the knife, leaving him naked and trembling on the bathroom floor, red blood and purple soap swirling together on the tile floor. 

He didn’t want to admit to Keith that he was planning on using it on himself, not Keith. Keith must have known regardless, because he cried silent, thick tears as he bandaged up Lance’s arms, whispering _don’t leave me you can’t leave me_ as he rocked the two of them together.)

(In the next few weeks, Keith bought him a TV, a coffee maker, an actual clock, new toys for Blue, anything that would stop the suicidal haze from hanging over his head. It didn’t work, but both of them pretended it did, like Lance pretended he didn’t flinch every time Keith kissed him, like Keith pretended that Lance’s affections were genuine.)

Breakfast passes by quickly as Keith practically vibrates in his seat in excitement, chowing down on his pancakes so vigorously that Lance chokes on a snort. Lance eats his in a more leisurely pace, barely managing to keep his amusement off his face at Keith’s distress. He even clicks his fingers at Blue to beckon her over, giving his good girl a scratch behind the ear before she wanders off to go play with one of Keith's new toys. She's started to be fond of him, though she still likes Lance best, obviously. He'll never get over Keith's disgruntled expression when she hopped in his lap during movie night (a new tradition of theirs) and immediately started purring like a motorcycle. At least the two of them have stopped glaring at each other like they were in some kind of western movie. 

Sorry, but no. He’s not inhaling his food just because Keith’s over eager to show him something. 

When he finally finishes the last bite, Keith surges up from the table, almost knocking over the plates as he grabs Lance’s wrist and pulls him up. “C’mon, c’mon c’mon!” 

Laughing, Lance lets himself be pulled out of his chair, scrambling after Keith as the other man pushes open the front door. Breathing deeply, he smiles a little to himself at the subtle sounds of the desert, of the insects and coyotes and turtles.

Not scorpions though. Fuck those guys. 

Every time Keith’s taken him outside, it’s always been in front of their house, within easy grabbing distance to bring him inside if he tries to escape, or towards the car if he wants to go deeper into the desert. This time, Keith gently takes his hand as he leads him around the back of the house, past the fluttering clothes line and the generator, towards a small building almost directly behind the house, far from where any of the two windows could give Lance a view. 

“What did you want to show me?” He asks, even though he has a pretty good idea.

Keith just smiles, humming under his breath as their feet continue onward. Something like fondness curls warmly in his gut as Keith squeezes his hand, and Lance smiles at him brightly. His bare feet ache a bit as he steps through rocks so thin they could be mistaken for sand.

~~Varadero’s beaches, sand between his toes and the ocean at his back~~

As they draw closer, Lance can see the small, semicircle building is almost made of some kind of tarp. In fact, it reminds him of…

“A greenhouse.” His eyes widen, and without his say so, he speeds up past Keith, almost yanking him as he sprints at full speed.

“Honey, slow down!” He hears Keith yell, but both of them are laughing anyhow as he practically skids inside the building, looking around with awestruck eyes. 

Plants line up in little garden beds on either side of him, small little things that still have to be nurtured carefully. Water trickles down from small pipes strung with wires from the ceiling, keeping the garden soil damp.

How strange. Water in the desert.

Soil spills line the small walkway, squishing underneath his sore feet as he walks deeper into the small and dim greenhouse. Carefully, he reaches out a hand to touch one of the small sprouts of green, the small tag sticking out of the soil naming it a green pepper.

“So this is what you’ve been working on, huh?” It’s practically a whisper, but Keith hears it anyhow.

Keith watches him with clear hesitation, standing still as a statue in the entryway. “Yeah.” His reply is soft, barely heard. “Just for you.”

Both of them are quiet as they stand in the shade, the barest glimmers of sunshine breaking through the thick tarp. 

Keith inhales sharply, breaking the silence as he takes several slow steps forward. Slowly, he reaches out a hand to cup Lance’s face, smoothing his thumb under his eye. 

Lance leans into his touch, a small smile gracing his face as he keeps glancing around. Everything here is so - quiet. Soothing. For once, his head doesn't feel so sore, so overwhelmed. A place just for him. 

Forcing his eyes up, he meets Keith’s steady gaze. “Thank you.”

Keith smiles, almost brokenly. “Of course.” He whispers, leaning forward enough to press their foreheads together. Lance closes his eyes, humming slightly into Keith’s soft touch. Though he knows he shouldn't, knows he _really_ shouldn't, he draws comfort from it. 

“You don’t smile as much.” Keith says, out of the blue, after several long moments of content silence. Lance goes to draw back, but Keith refuses to let go, clinging to his shoulders. “I’m sorry. I’m _so_ sorry.” 

Oh.

Lance sniffs, looping his arms around Keith’s waist. “It’s…I can’t say it’s not your fault, I can’t. But it’s not entirely it either. I’ve…always been this way. There’ll be days where I can’t get out of bed. There’ll be days I don’t want to eat, or do anything, or days I want to die. And you can’t Keith, you can’t do anything about it.”

Keith shakes his head, but they both know he’s right. Even with the stolen medicine kept carefully under lock and key, his depression will never fully go away. The hand cupping his cheek moves to his hair, smoothing it back before a soft kiss gets dropped on his forehead.

“I love you.” Keith admits, and Lance swallows an inappropriate laugh.

“Yeah.” He says instead. “I know.”

For a moment, the two of them stare at each other in considering silence. His hand creeps up until he's cupping Keith's face, looking at the man who claims he loves him. The man who is much like a child, clinging onto their comfort with the keen desperation of someone who has lost so much. Sometimes, when Lance doesn't hate him to his very marrow, he feels something like pity for him. 

Keith, an adult not much older than him, who has nobody else and who's head is a mess. Lance can't say he doesn't relate, doesn't empathize. He's not quite sure how to vocalize how he feels Keith. 

Yes, there's anger. There's hatred. There's pity. But there's also a sort of twisted dependency between the two of them. Lance knows Keith won't let him go, but now, there's a realization - 

Does Lance want to leave? 

He should. He despises Keith for taking him away from his family, his friends, his job and school. But he's grown comfortable - sickeningly comfortable letting Keith take care of him, the dry air of the desert around them and a kind of solitude that makes Lance feel like they're the only two people in the world. There's a sense of power, having Keith be so in love with him as he claims. Like he could tell Keith to anything, and the man would happily grant whatever wish he had. A sick sense of devotion that makes him light headed. That no matter what he fucks up, what he has on his hands, that nothing could ever make him feel lonely again. 

Right here's the man who roofied him at a club so many months ago. Right here's the same man who built a greenhouse for him. 

His heart aches. He doesn't know what to do. 

~~If Keith doesn't want him anymore, then where else does he have to go?~~

So he kisses him, instead. 

Keith laughs against his mouth, holding his waist oh so gently. Lance tilts his head to deepen the kiss, feeling his knees wobble as they sink to the floor together. 

Lance lets himself be pushed back, to lie on the mixture of damp soil and glass sand and to let it stain his skin. Keith and him exchange quiet kisses, both of them mourning something they can’t quite name. 

“Can I? Please please I need it.” Keith pants against his mouth, eyes bright, almost manic. Lance blinks rapidly, nodding his head shallowly as Keith rocks up against him. Both of them pause a moment for Lance to rearrange the sprawl of his legs, to let Keith kneel between them and cover every inch of him, until he feels suffocated underneath him, thousand of miles away from the sky full of stars.

Both of their clothes stay on, yet Lance feels vulnerable underneath Keith, raw and exposed like a live wire. Their hands are intertwined by his head, their free hands holding onto each other’s clothes, nails digging in desperation as they moan on the greenhouse soil into each other's mouths. 

Keith finishes first, shuddering above Lance before sucking a viscous hickey behind Lance’s ear. Harshly, he presses down his palm on Lance’s jeans, jerking him off with just enough friction that Lance hisses out a sharp breath, the tide breaking quickly afterwards. 

When he opens his eyes afterwards, his eyelashes are wet with tears, and Keith is lovingly caressing his bare stomach, eyes bright with rapture at Lance's ruffled appearance. 

Unclenching his fingers from where they had dug in at the fabric around Keith’s shoulders, he throws an arm over his face, the ecstasy fading as a deep, aching pit of emptiness takes it place.

What was he thinking? 

_What was he thinking?_

“Baby?” Keith grabs his wrist, trying to pull his arm away from his face, but Lance fights him. “What’s wrong?” 

Gasping, he lets out a shuddering breath, only able to think about the stickiness in his underwear and the loneliness in his gut. 

God, what is wrong with him?! 

“I wanna go home,” he sobs, ripping his other hand away from Keith’s claustrophobic grip. “I wanna go home, I wanna go home, _por favor, Estoy tan cansado_ -”

~~“What do you mean?” He asks, genuinely confused. “You _are_ home.”~~

Keith grunts, trying to pull his hands off his face, but Lance _shrieks_ , fighting Keith’s oppressive touch. It’s too much it’s always too much how was he such an idiot for letting himself get this far - should have slit his wrists when he had the chance!

(But no, he doesn’t want to die, not really, but _yet_ -)

He laid back and let Keith rape him. But is it rape if he never really said no? 

Lance doesn’t know what to think anymore. 

His mind is a mess. 

_Mami he want his mom please someone help_

~~But he's a sinner, he has blood on his hands, his mami would _hate_ him for what he's done -~~

Keith stops trying to tug him. Instead, he cradles him, murmuring soft words of comfort on the floor of a greenhouse his kidnapper made for him. On the floor he just lost something precious to. His neck stings, his underwear is disgusting, and he can't even find the will to be angry anymore. Not when he feels almost safe in Keith's arms. 

This is so fucked up. 

Eventually, tiredness drags at him, tugs at him and urges him to get comfortable and sleep for the next century, until all of this is behind him. Keith must sense the change, because his grip loosens, sliding down until he’s spooning Lance’s back. His hands remain above the belt. 

Slowly, his hands drop from his face, resting limply on the soil next to him. His eyes go half-lidded, feeling the last couple of tears drip down his face, Keith’s soft hums covering his choked breaths. 

“This is insanity,” he breaths. 

Keith shrugs from behind him. “Probably. But I don’t care.” Lance feels his smile on the nape of his neck. He wishes he could feel smugness there, he really does. But there's only a pleased satisfaction.“You’re mine, now and forever.” 

He’s so tired. 

The hold on him tightens. “Right?” 

Lance swallows, closing his eyes to block out the world. His reality.

And how comfortable he's grown with it. 

“Yeah. Yours.”

-

“Good morning, sweetheart.” 

Lance blinks, groaning at the bright light coming through the windows. 

Keith smiles from above him, straddling his hips with flushed cheeks. His hands are on Lance’s waistband. 

“Can I?” He asks. 

Lance nods. 

And he lays back and lets it happen.

**Author's Note:**

> Next: Snakebite


End file.
